


The Blade and the Bow

by katmarajade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Self-Defense Lessons, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/pseuds/katmarajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Draco signs up for self-defence lessons. So does someone else …</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blade and the Bow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mairi Nathaira (Tara)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tara/gifts).



> Written for Aigooism/Tara as part of my annual holiday gift series. She prompted a lot of LOTR type things, so I decided to hand these two a sword and a bow and see what they did with them.

Conan McLaggen was known throughout Wizarding Britain for both his skill and discretion. When after several attacks and an increasing number of death threats, Draco Malfoy began looking into self-defence tutors, Conan's name seemed to be the gold standard.

Thickly built with wiry copper-coloured hair, Conan looked very similar to his moronic younger brother. (Draco had no patience for know-it-all Gryffindors or Keepers who didn't keep to their post, both of which described the younger McLaggen.) However, unlike Cormac, Conan was terse, focused, and a fantastic teacher. Draco couldn't help but drool a little bit whenever Conan displayed his masterful skill with a broadsword. There was just something about a big, handsome man wielding a sword … Unfortunately, despite his rugged good looks and brilliance in the art of war, Conan was desperately dim and seemed to have the vocabulary of a troll. Definitely _not_ Draco's type.

After several months of training, Draco managed to become an adequate swordsman. However, he much preferred the smooth elegance of the bow. The sleek bow and perfectly balanced arrows might not protect him if he were jumped on the street again, but they offered him confidence and much improved skill. He'd even noticed how the increased hand-eye coordination, patience, and precision were affecting his wandwork. He'd never been a stronger dueller.

One morning, Draco received an owl from Conan. His trainer was ill—dragon pox, a nasty business—and their sessions would have to be put on hiatus for the foreseeable future. However, Conan had another student in the area who was at approximately Draco's skill level, and he suggested that the two of them meet to continue their training together in his absence.

When Draco appeared at the pre-arranged location, he spotted a man who looked awfully familiar. Brunette and barrel-chested with long, sturdy legs, the man waved a thick, heavy blade through the air with practised ease; Draco couldn't help but be impressed. As the man turned, Draco plastered what he hoped was a friendly smile on his face, only to have the expression wiped away.

"Longbottom?" he exclaimed, aghast.

"Draco Malfoy," Neville said, not sounding nearly as shocked as Draco thought he should.

"You're training with a broadsword?"

"Yeah, well, after I pulled out the sword of Gryffindor at the Battle of Hogwarts, everyone seemed to think I was some sort of expert. In reality, I was strong and determined and damn lucky, but I thought it best to learn the skill that everyone was attributing to me."

"Oh, er, good." Draco stumbled over his words, feeling like a complete ninny. The hot swordsman was Neville Bloody Longbottom. Neville Longbottom was the hot swordsman. What in Merlin's name were the odds of that and how had Draco landed himself in this situation?

"So, you're training with the sword too?" Neville asked, his pleasant tone throwing Draco's entire world off balance.

"A bit, yes. But I've been focusing more on the bow … feels a bit more natural to me."

"Ah, archery." Neville leaned in before whispering conspiratorially, "I'm absolute pants at that—can't hit a target to save my life."

"Well, practise makes perfect and all that," Draco muttered, irritated at the flush he could feel spreading across his cheeks.

"I wouldn't say no to a bit of one-on-one training," Neville said cheerfully, giving Draco a beaming smile, followed closely by a booming laugh when Draco turned bright red and let out a shocked squeak.

"I'll take that as a _yes_ , if I may. What do you say, Malfoy? _En garde_?"

Draco's flustered hands dropped his bow and quiver, and they shook as he pulled his sabre from its sheath. Though he was sure to lose, it was entirely worth it just to see the gleam in those brown eyes and watch the smooth arc of Neville's muscled arm. For once—and just this once! —Draco found that he didn't care that he was sure to have his arse handed to him.

Let the games begin.  



End file.
